


take the weakest thing in you

by saezutte



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Shenanigans, Comedy, Defensiveness, Diplomacy, M/M, a touch of jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezutte/pseuds/saezutte
Summary: After liberating a system of planets from Galra control, Keith overhears one of the generals insulting the Paladins. When he hears what he has to say about Lance, he loses his temper. [Set between season 3 and 4, before Keith leaves for the Blade of Marmora]





	take the weakest thing in you

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt neatly gave me a chance to play with one of my favorite shippy tropes (defensiveness and some bonus jealousy) and think through some of my thoughts on Keith leaving the team to train with the Blade. I wish the show had done more legwork to show that decision, so here's a mild fill-in the blank with some silly comedy fluff. Thanks to the prompter, the artist Olivia, the beta reader EC, and the mods of the Klance reverse bang for all their assistance.
> 
> ETA: [Here's Olivia's super cute art!](https://buttonscantdraw.tumblr.com/post/173271701294/hey-so-this-is-one-of-my-reverse-bang-pieces-for)

The food on Plokophus V was bad. Lance wasn’t going to say so out loud, not after Allura gave them a mini-lecture on diplomatic etiquette, but he did scrunch his face in particularly dramatic disgust at a blue-green berry which tasted like horseradish, celery, and body odor. 

“Don’t,” said the Princess, picking delicately at a grimly crimson leaf roll. 

The Plok’fonians were apparently highly sensitive to insult from outsiders, according to Allura’s lecture (and Coran’s monologue in the same vein, which Lance hadn't listened to—life was too short here in the Endless Space War and Allura was scarier, prettier, and more direct, so Coran’s lectures were safely skippable.) 

They controlled a small but significant system of planets which could be used in defense against the Galra. It was a good alliance; most of their diplomatic relations were built planet-by-planet, a mining asteroid here, a wandering group of scavengers there—any group of planets which could be courted in a single swoop was essential to the war effort. 

So of course, Lance wasn’t going to insult their food. At least, not out loud. “Did I say anything? I didn’t say anything!” 

“You were thinking it,” Allura scolded. 

“Thinking what?” Hunk said, chowing down on a pile of noodles Lance was sure were wiggling. “Not bad. Crunchy.” 

Pidge looked at him askance. “Are you kidding? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s not my fault you guys haven’t developed my diverse palate for alien foods.” 

“Hello, Allura is an alien!” Lance gestured to the Princess, still poking at a cabbage roll from hell. 

“By definition, she has a ‘palate for alien foods’ and she doesn’t like it either—“

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it—“

“Altean food has a reputation for being quite bland, actually—“ 

“Excuse me?” Allura turned on Hunk. 

“No offense, Princess. I’m just repeating the results of my extensive culinary research,” Hunk quipped with the long practice of a science student defending half-assed lab work. 

Allura genuinely looked a bit hurt. “Well, Altean food is simple, classic, it doesn’t need all the flavors and messy textures—“ 

“Allura, he is so bullshitting you,” Pidge interrupted. 

“Yeah, Princess, sorry. Honestly, no one in space has even heard of Altean food since, you know. Uh. It hasn’t been around for a while.” 

Somehow, that apology didn’t help. 

“Here,” Hunk swooped over and took her plate, “let me take your _g’riplak_ so you don’t have to pretend you like it. Why don’t you try that white stuff?” He pointed to the buffet. “It’s like a sweet yogurt, hard not to like.” 

Allura smiled, taking the proverbial olive branch or whatever gift/plant symbolized peace on Altea. 

“Thank you, Hunk. I appreciate your research and enthusiasm for culinary matters, which is so often a delicate diplomatic concern.” She retreated to the buffet gracefully. 

Hunk grinned and punched the air. “You hear that, guys! She appreciates me!” 

“Speaking of diplomatic concerns, what is Keith doing?” Lance craned his neck around the room. 

Hunk pouted. “Lance obviously doesn’t appreciate me.” 

“You’re the only one diplomatically concerned about Keith, Lance,” Pidge said. 

“Yes, I am _diplomatically concerned_ he’s going to start a diplomatic incident!” To avoid a repeat of the Brawl of Balactis Prime, where Keith had gotten into a fist fight with a hotheaded prince for mysterious reasons (Keith had refused to explain, probably because the reasons were stupid), Keith had been warned to keep quiet and look pretty. Okay, so Lance had added that last bit—as a joke! Mostly! But only Pidge had laughed and Lance didn’t like the tone of that laughter one bit, just like he didn’t like their tone now. 

“Uh huh. Sure.” Pidge did an eyebrow waggle straight out of bad sitcom acting. 

Allura returned just in time to stop Lance from asking Pidge what the quiznak that was supposed to mean. “I have brought us all some of Hunk’s sweet yoo-grunts!” She handed Pidge and Lance little bowls of the goopy substance. It smelled a bit like sunscreen, which Lance had always been tempted to eat as a kid. 

“They are passably decent—“ Hunk beamed with pride “—though perhaps that is only because, as an Altean, my taste for alien food is bland and unsophisticated.” 

“Oh no, I’m still in trouble,” Hunk groaned. 

Pidge grinned. “You’re still in trouble.” 

“I’m going to bring this to Keith,” Lance held up his yoo-grunt. “Just in case hunger makes him grouchier than usual.” 

“We’re all going to be in trouble, aren’t we,” Pidge muttered. 

“Definitely, definitely in trouble.” Hunk nodded as he took a big bite of something smelly and orange. 

“I have no clue what you guys are talking about, like, ever,” Lance said and headed to the edge of the banquet hall, where Mr. _I’m So Cool I Don’t Even Realize I Have A Mullet_ was slouching against a pillar frowning. Always with the frowning! Maybe some sunscreen yoo-grunt would cheer him up. 

———

Trying not to overhear a conversation was like trying not to think of a three-horned Guntfalpian rhino-snake: the harder Keith tried, the more clearly he could hear its wheezing hisses and the heavy plop of its coils. Except instead of the rhino-snake, it was a Plok’fosian general, Arr’natz, blowing complete and utter rhino-snake dung out of his mouth. 

Keith was leaning just out of sight of the general and his group—not deliberately hiding, but moving away now would mean getting closer to other groups of Plok’fosians and they might want to talk to him. At least these malcontents were ignoring him; it was Keith who was having trouble ignoring them. 

“Embarrassing to have those Voltron children here,” the general sneered to a pack of fawning advisors. 

“Yes, yes, quite embarrassing!” chimed in Advisor A, shaking his floppy ears in shame. 

“Completely embarrassing!” weighed in Advisor B, tapping his fore-claws together in the gesture Keith thought meant agreement. 

“Indeed!” cried Advisor C, before sheepishly adding, “Um, why… precisely… are we embarrassed?” 

Arr’natz turned on him and roared. “We are embarrassed to have to play victim for the glory of schoolchildren whose military prowess is no more than the smoke and mirrors of magic robotics!” Keith clenched his fist but, impressively, did not say anything. 

“Ah, well, they did help us drive the Galra out of the system… didn’t they?” said Advisor C, who had clearly missed some memo. 

“More like we babysat them to keep them from ruining our operation!” Advisor A, who had gotten the memo, said. 

Keith did blink at that: their plan, before the paladins had shown up, had essentially been a suicide run at the Galra supply station that was cutting them off from the fourth planet in the system and brought Galra ships regularly within striking distance of their capital. Not an operation worth ruining, in Keith's strategic opinion.

“Hey, Keith-o, how’s it hanging?” Lance was suddenly, as always, just a little too close to Keith, leaning towards him which a cup some bubbling white slop in his hand. Lance’s body always felt just a little too warm to Keith; he flushed and tried to lean away but Lance angled himself closer.

Keith sighed. “Keith-o? Who?” 

“Just thought it was time we come up with a nickname for Keith! Make it more friendly-sounding.” 

“Isn’t your name literally a weapon?” 

Lance touched a finger to his lips in thought. “Hmm, okay. But a lance is a distinguished weapon, for knights! Keith sounds more like a type of knife.” 

Keith was fine with sounding like a knife, personally, so he just rolled his eyes. 

“Here, I brought you something! Allura calls it a yoo-grunt so I guess that’s what we call it now.” He thrust the white goop towards Keith’s face and Keith took it reflexively. 

“And that princess—“ Arr’natz said, voice pitched a little louder, “she’s no more than the wasted remnants of a failed monarchy. Who gives her the right to come here as though she rules over us?” 

“Hey!” Lance said. “What gives him the right to—“ Keith put his hand over Lance’s mouth without thinking. Lance frowned with big round eyes. 

“They’re just grumbling because they’re embarrassed they needed help,” Keith said, “No reason to jeopardize the alliance over them.” He pulled his hand away from Lance’s mouth just as quickly as he put it there. It tingled oddly. 

Lance nodded and whispered, “Still, so rude! What else have they been saying?” 

Arr'natz unknowingly obliged Lance's curiosity. “That man with the Galra weaponry in his arm—what are the chances he’s not a spy? Then there’s the little one and the big one, like two circus clowns—“

“Yikes, good thing Pidge isn’t here to hear that,” Lance said. Keith nodded grimly; Pidge would surely enact some elaborate revenge, on all of their behalves. 

“But that paladin in the red lion is the biggest clown of all—“ the general continued. 

“The clown ringleader!” said Advisor A. 

“The clown king!” said Advisor B. 

“Hear that? I’m king of the clowns,” Lance whispered to Keith, grinning. Keith couldn’t help but notice he was standing even closer, like they were hiding together in some sort of conspiracy. Keith remembered all the times on missions when they’d ended up like this—huddled close, listening to enemies plot, strategizing together. Even now, without the immediate threat of danger, it felt exciting. Listening to some disgruntled alien allies was almost fun with Lance’s commentary in his ear. 

“Finally something I agree with, your highness,” Keith said. 

“I’ll take it!” Lance smiled down at him. Keith’s cheeks burned. He looked quickly back to the general’s group. 

“More than a clown, he was recklessly incompetent.” Arr’natz continued. “He nearly grazed our ship several times.” 

“They were out of position!” Lance hissed. 

“And his aim was worse than a newly enlisted trainee’s!” 

“I thought my aim was good.” Lance mumbled. 

“We could have finished the job cleanly and quickly if he were out of the way.” The general’s voice was gruff and ominous; Keith’s instincts registered the line almost as a threat. 

“Is that… true?” Lance’s face looked so miserable that Keith couldn’t breathe. Without thinking he pushed Lance out of the way and stormed towards the general. 

“Hey, Keith—wait—“ Lance reached for him but he was already through. 

Shoving his way into the circle of Plok’fosians, he yelled, “If you have something to say, say it to our faces!” The yoo-grunt was still in his hand, so he threw it directly in Advisor B’s face. 

“Excuse me!” the poor sycophant huffed through a face full of goop. “This is an insult against our culinary delicacies.” 

“Your food sucks!” Keith yelled. 

“Keith!” Lance cried from somewhere behind him. “We were doing so well!” 

“And as for you,” he turned towards the general. Arr’natz was about a foot taller than Keith, but that had never stopped him. “If you think we’re such amateurs, why don’t you fight me, man to man?” He drew his knife slowly and pressed it against Arr’natz’s chest. The general’s stare burned down on Keith but he didn’t look away. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Lance grabbed Keith's arm and yanked it back. “Buddy, come on, this is not what we want. Right?” He pulled Keith back away from the general. 

“He was insulting you,” Keith said. 

“I get insulted all the time, no big deal, not worth bloodshed.” He hadn’t let go of Keith’s knife-wielding arm. “Just put it away, avoid a diplomatic incident.” 

The general, behind Lance, guffawed. “Look, he’s so afraid of us he won’t even defend their weakness!” 

Keith growled. “I’ll defend! I’ll defend so hard I’ll _offend_ —“

“What is going on here?” It was Allura, conveniently followed by the Plok’fosian Council of Elders. 

“These children have been trying to pick a fight with us. I suggest you control your soldiers, Princess.” 

Allura frowned. “Lance, Keith, what happened?” 

“We overheard General Arr’natz insulting the Paladins of Voltron and yourself, Princess,” Lance answered. He spoke formally and seriously; Keith was a little impressed. “Though we endeavored to overlook the insult, something he said pushed us too far.” 

“Pushed Keith too far, you mean?” Allura raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, it was all me,” Keith sighed. He slipped the knife back into its holder. “Lance was trying to hold me back.” 

“It’s true, it’s all true!” said Advisor C to the Councillors. “The General, with all due respect, was insulting the Paladins. He hoped to bait them into a fight which would disgrace them in your eyes.” 

One of the councilors, an elderly woman with five eye stems, said, “Is this true, Arr’natz?” 

“You little traitor!” Arr’natz roared at poor Advisor C. 

Allura, meanwhile, looked at Lance and Keith carefully. “Lance, why don’t you take Keith somewhere private to collect yourselves while I discuss this incident with the council.” 

“Thanks, happy to,” Lance said and dragged Keith towards the door. 

———

There was a quiet room off the main banquet hall; it wasn’t quiet for long. 

“What in the quiznak were you thinking?” 

Keith grumbled, “You didn’t hear the whole conversation—they’ve been going on like this since we got here.” 

“So? You knew very well that this was a delicate diplomatic situation!” Lance tried to sound like his mother that time she’d scolded Luis for eating all the cookies she’d made for a party. 

But Keith wasn’t a five-year-old with a tummy ache, so he fired back. “Tell that to them! We saved their stupid trade route, they should be thanking us. Instead, they were insulting us, insulting you—“ 

“Insulting me?” Lance tilted his head, puzzled. “I don’t care if they insult me. I mean, he’s not wrong—“

Keith slammed his fist against the wall. “He is wrong.” He glared at Lance as though Lance himself had been sitting around with the general and cronies, laughing at those goofy paladins. Lance blinked and stepped back. That seemed to deflate Keith’s anger—he dropped to a nearby bench and groaned into his hands. “I’m not cut out for this.” 

“Not cut out for what?” Lance sat down next to Keith and leaned close. He thought about putting a hand on his arm, some comforting contact, but he couldn’t tell if Keith was calm enough not to overreact. He wanted to, though. “Come on, you can tell me.” 

“All of this, the diplomacy stuff. Fighting is fine.” He paused. “Yeah, fighting is great, but…” Keith looked up at Lance from his hands. “The rest of it. The fitting in part.” 

Lance paused, stopping himself from saying the first smart comment that popped into his mind about Keith, literally too talented and good-looking to function, not fitting in. But looking back on it, Keith had never really fit in at the garrison and he still wasn’t the most socially aware now. Definitely not, if he was looking to Lance of all people for reassurance. 

“You fit in with us,” Lance said, simply. 

Keith smiled, just a soft one probably only Lance would have noticed, but then he lowered his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s enough. I can’t help defeat the Galra if I’m pissing off every ally we find.“ 

“You just need to work on your people skills.” Then Lance had a bright idea. “Anger management!” He clapped Keith on the back. 

“Huh?” 

“We need to figure out what sets you off and come up with ways to deal in the moment.” Lance pumped his fist in triumph. “What was it this time? You were listening to those bumbling snotweasels for a while before you decided to go all lone avenger on them.” 

Keith shifted. “Well, they were wrong.” He looked at the floor. “About you.” 

“What? Is that all?” Lance snorted. “You definitely don’t have to waste your energy defending lil ol’ me.” He tried to chuckle but it fell flat. The room was silent. 

After a moment, Keith seemed to reach some sort of resolve. “Obviously I do, since you won’t do it yourself.” Keith looked at him with such intensity Lance felt his face grow warm. This was not what he expected. 

He shook his head quickly. “I’m not worth it.” 

“You are,” Keith grunted. “You totally are, the fact that you can’t see it is almost as frustrating as that asshole general.” 

Now Lance knew he was blushing. He did love frustrating Keith, after all. He decided for a change of topic. “What about that time with the prince, what’s his name, from the Balactis system? Was he insulting me then too?” 

Keith’s mouth thinned into a stern line. “No. That was something else.” 

Lance poked Keith’s thigh a few times. “So? What was it?” 

“It was nothing,” Keith growled. “Stop poking me.” 

“You threw a punch bowl full of live alien shrimp at his head, it wasn’t nothing,” Lance pointed out. “If it wasn’t about me, it must have been something.” 

“It wasn’t _not_ about you,” Keith mumbled. 

“Excuse you? You just said—“

“He wasn’t insulting you, he was just talking about you and I—“ Keith cleared his throat. “I didn’t like it.” 

“You didn’t like some random prince talking about me? Jeez, Keith, I know you’re the strong silent type, but some of us don’t mind talking—“

“—He thought you were hot.” 

Lance choked. “Um, and you were so offended by the wrongness of that, you punched him? That’s a little extreme, I’m not that ugly—“

“He was talking about fucking you,” Keith barked. “That you’d fall to his charms no problem and he’d have you screaming all night.” 

“Uh, really?” Lance still didn’t get Keith’s problem but he was a little glad that diplomatic incident had kept him out of the clutches of this prince. “That’s, uh. That’s a lot.” 

“I didn’t want to give him a chance with you.” Keith was sitting very still; Lance got the impression he’d just said something important, but it made as little sense to him as any of this conversation. 

“He sounds like he was coming on a little strong, so thanks? But why did you care?” 

Keith was back to glaring again, a familiar though still confusing expression. “Are you clueless or do you just hate me?” 

“Aww, Keith-o, I definitely don’t hate you!” Lance laughed awkwardly.

“Don’t start now,” Keith said and pulled Lance against him. When Keith’s lips slipped against his, it was like the missing puzzle piece of this whole conversation, this whole day, their whole relationship was suddenly slotted into place. 

When he pulled away, Keith’s eyes were narrowed, waiting on his reaction, but Lance just felt wide-eyed with awe. “I won’t. I definitely don’t,” Lance glanced at Keith’s lips, “hate you.” 

“Good,” Keith mumbled. 

Suddenly, Lance laughed. “So you punched a space prince to stop him from stealing me away from you?”

“No!”

“Sounds a lot like you did.” 

“He was disrespecting you!” 

“I don’t know, he was pretty hot, I wouldn’t mind being disrespected by him,” Lance said and immediately regretted it. 

Keith pursed his lips. “He’s still in the alliance, you can give him a call.” 

Lance leaned forward and took Keith’s hands in his. “I think one pretty space hothead is more than enough for me to handle.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keith sputtered. “You think you can handle me?” 

“You bet I can handle you, Keith-o. I’ll show you handling.” He tugged Keith closer, as close as he could, and kissed him again. 

Just when he’d decided he could keep kissing Keith forever, the palace alarms started ringing. Coran’s voice came over the speakers. 

“Paladins of Voltron, report to your lions! Stranglers from the Galra fleet have been spotted moving on the Plokophus capital!” 

“Cockblocked by space war again,” Lance groaned, pressing his face into Keith’s shoulder. 

“What makes you think I’m going to put out?” Keith must have been trying to be funny, which, frankly, Lance did not like—he was the funny one here. If Keith was funny and good-lucking, it was just unfair. 

“Oh, you’ll fall to my considerable charms, trust me. I’ll have you screaming all night.” 

“I can still decide to punch you like I did Prince Whatever, you know.” 

“Why punch each other when we have enemies to fight?” Lance pleaded. “Not like you to forget the mission, but who can blame you after such spectacular kissing?” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be distracted the whole battle,” he said before running off towards the lion chutes. 

“Really?” Lance called, running after him. “Hey, wait! Really? Do you mean it?” Keith didn’t answer, but Lance knew the truth. 

———

“In recognition of his service to the Plok’fonian system with his exceptional bravery and valor, we hereby award our highest honor, the Order of Plok’ffarn the Many-Handed, on Paladin Lance.” 

The head of the Council of Elders lowered the great metal ring over Lance’s head. Though she had no problem lifting it in her frail aged hands, Lance staggered under its weight as she set it down. 

Keith, standing beside Lance, reached out an arm to steady him. “You got this,” he said. 

“Heck yeah, I got this!” Lance beamed at him. 

When the small Galra squadron had blasted its way straight through the heart of the Plok’fonian capital, all the paladins had been there, of course—Keith included, despite his conflicted feelings about his role with Voltron. In such close quarters, it was impossible to form Voltron; it was risky even to fight in lions. It had been Lance who had formed the plan to get the Galra drones out of the city, into open country, and who had acted as the bait himself to set up their ambush. 

Keith could see Arr’natz seething in his seat in the audience at Lance’s award ceremony. Given the excitement, any resentment over the earlier fight had vanished, so Lance had, more or less, saved Keith from diplomatic disgrace twice today. 

As they walked off the stage, Lance finally gave up on wearing the medal. “Dang, this thing is heavy,” he said, pulling it off. “It looks so thin!” 

“It looks weak but it is strong,” the Elderwoman said gently from behind them. “Appropriate,” she added as she shuffled off the platform. 

“Did that old woman just drag me?” Lance asked Keith. “But also compliment me at the same time?” 

“It was more of a drag,” Keith said. 

“No respect,” Lance mumbled. 

Keith elbowed him. “They just gave you a big award. I think they respect you.” 

“As they should!” Allura had just reached them. “That was a remarkable performance, Lance.” 

“I hope I get a whole special award ceremony next time,” Hunk called over. He and Pidge were already headed out to assist with repairs to the city. 

“Don’t abuse your secret Plok’whatever order privileges,” Pidge added. 

“Privileges? Do I have privileges?” 

Keith looked at Allura quickly. They shook their heads in unison. “Best not to even ask,” Allura said. 

“Oh, well.” Lance threw an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “I hope I get some private privileges at least,” he said quietly. 

Keith flushed. “What sort of privileges?” 

Lance just waggled his eyebrows and puckered his lips. 

“I can’t believe you,” Keith groaned.

“Oh dear ever-loving space God, will you two stop it before they kick us out for public indecency?” Pidge yelled from atop their space tractor. 

“Aww, Pidge, why are you trying to crush young love like that?” Hunk sighed. 

“You two! Stop spying and get to work!” Lance raised his metal hoop over his head. “I’m a knight or whatever now!” 

“Ay, ay, boss,” said Hunk. 

“Emphasis on the _whatever_ ,” said Pidge. 

Keith, tucked under Lance’s arm and more red than he’d like to admit, thought maybe it was enough, after all, just to fit in with these clowns of Voltron.


End file.
